


Come A Little Closer, It's Alright

by lookingfortherainbow



Series: Same Soul [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bonding, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Facial Shaving, Flirting, Fluff, Genderfluid Harry, Harry Styles Calls Louis Tomlinson Pet Names, Kissing, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, M/M, No Smut, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pet Names, Shaving, Time Skips, Trans Louis Tomlinson, Vulnerable Louis Tomlinson, dont let that throw you off, theyre both sassy lil shits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingfortherainbow/pseuds/lookingfortherainbow
Summary: Normally, Louis is quite loud, prefers talking to being quiet. Here, now, it’s so quiet Harry can hear his breaths as he holds still for him, hears the scrape of metal blade over coarse hair, hears the ticking of the radiator in the other room.Louis’ eyes are studying him, darting here, there, mapping, memorizing.Or, shaving becomes an intimate bonding experience.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: Same Soul [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2179704
Comments: 12
Kudos: 54





	Come A Little Closer, It's Alright

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a few months after the first part in this series. I'm going to continue adding little time stamps. Their first date will be one of them, but the inspiration to write this lil moment between them came first, so here you are.  
> I so appreciate all the kind comments on the first part, gave me the push to write more and means so much, as these characterizations of H and L are super personal to me. <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
> Title is from Cheetah Tongue by The Wombats

“Ouch! Ugh!” 

Harry glances up from the book he’s reading in his bedroom. His hand stops where it’s been circling his belly button, exposed by the way his satin robe is splayed out over the sheets he’s sprawled on. 

From where he lays, he can see into the small bathroom connected to his bedroom that’s also a living room. There, Louis is mumbling irritatedly to himself as he applies another small glob of shaving cream to his mostly foamed up face. 

It’s a spiritual thing, Harry thinks often, the way his body decides to move towards Louis without consent from his brain. Oftentimes, it seems his limbs are pulled into action by some kind of invisible strings attached to Louis himself. It’s both overwhelming and euphoric that this pull happens even now that they’ve been together a few months, even when they spend what others consider an inordinate amount of time together. 

He’s wrapping Louis in his arms before he can really think about it. Hooking his chin over his shoulder, he looks at Louis’ frustrated expression in the mirror, the way those expressive eyes catch his gaze. It’s amazing how simply holding him in his arms is still such a wondrous thing. 

“You know, sometimes, I just want a clean fucking face without all the hassle,” Louis sighs out, stopping his fussing and leaning on the sink, razor gripped in one hand. He’s staring at himself now, and Harry hates how that expression morphs into one of resentment. 

Kissing his neck, Harry noses through the hairs that curl around his ears, suckles on his earlobe for a moment. He can feel the tremble in Louis’ sigh, their bare torsos gluing together. 

Harry knows how irritated he gets with himself for not having figured out all the things most other men have perfected. He feels his pain much in the same way, when he can’t get that eyeliner that adorns his lids on fancy dates straight, when he still gets confused in the women’s section at the store because some idiot decided even _sizes_ on _clothes_ couldn’t be unisex. 

“C’mere, turn around,” Harry murmurs, moving him around in his arms. 

“What?” Louis states more than asks, crooking his head. 

He doesn’t flinch at the resignation in his boyfriend’s eyes. By now, he knows how much frustration Louis still holds within, how angry he can get at himself and how it’s never directed at Harry even though it can look like that. Sometimes, Harry wishes Louis would yell at him instead of going silent and stoic in his agitation with himself. 

“Sit on the toilet,” Harry simply directs. 

Louis doesn’t uncross his arms as he closes the lid on it and does just that. Taking his place on his knees, right between Louis’ sturdy thighs, Harry ignores the look of defiance that’s creeping into the gaze he’s set on him. He knows what Louis had to go through to get where he is in his transition, doesn’t blame him for still learning that Harry never sees him as anything but himself, especially after dealing with rejection from so many of those he loved around him. 

As Harry takes the razor gently from him, Louis starts gripping onto his ribcage, fingers picking at the scabs of where his recent top surgery incisions were made. 

“I know how to do it myself, I’ve read--” Louis starts, voice low. 

Harry simply looks into his eyes, holds the graceful line of his neck with one hand, and says, “I know, honey. Just let me make it easier on you this one time.”

“Okay,” Louis sighs, his hands falling away, moving them to instead slip into Harry’s opened robe. 

Harry shivers a bit at the feel of his cold fingers, but his concentration doesn’t waver as he applies pressure to where he’s beginning to shave on Louis’ cheek. 

His face is one so regal Harry can’t get enough of it, both shaved and dusted with stubble. He loves the feel of the rough hair when they kiss both dirty and soft, loves how it shines red in the morning light before he’s woken, and Harry’s already been up for hours. When he’s clean-shaven, Harry takes time to notice all the freckles seizing the chance to be center-stage. He likes how his smooth skin feels underneath his palm when he’s pulling him in for a peck, distracting him from whatever he was excitedly talking about. 

Normally, Louis is quite loud, prefers talking to being quiet. Here, now, it’s so quiet Harry can hear his breaths as he holds still for him, hears the scrape of metal blade over coarse hair, hears the ticking of the radiator in the other room.

Louis’ eyes are studying him, darting here, there, mapping, memorizing. Harry chuckles a bit, pulls the razor away. 

“Like what you see?”

“Oh, yeah. Like what I feel, too,” Louis smirks under his foam beard. 

It’s only then Harry realizes he’s massaging his love handles, too lost in focus to notice earlier. He laughs as he rinses the razor and settles back in his place in front of Louis. 

“Glad to hear my love handles are keeping you amused,” Harry jokes. 

When Louis starts to shake his head, Harry steadies his chin with a breathy laugh. He loves how animated he gets when he talks. 

“Not amused. . .More like. . . _enamored,”_ he says with such conviction that Harry thinks he’s joking, until he sees how serious his boyfriend’s eyes are. 

“Louis, you need to stop talking.” _So much for the quiet, Harry thinks, fondly._

“Excuse you, my voice is a gift,” Louis retorts. 

Harry sighs as he has to reposition Louis’ face again. Secretly, he loves that Louis’ already forgotten his previous qualms about even allowing Harry to do this. 

“You know I know it is. But the longer you talk, the longer it’ll take me to shave you, which just means more time passing by where I’m not _kissing_ you.”

“God, hurry up, then,” Louis urges, tickling at Harry’s armpits. Harry rolls his eyes at the intonation, as if Louis himself wasn’t the one holding him up from finishing the job. 

_“Lou,_ stop or I’ll cut you,” Harry whines, shrieking a little as Louis keeps grazing his skin with feather light touches. 

In his attempt to get away from Louis’ fingers, his robe slips off his one shoulder. A thrill runs down his spine upon seeing how Louis’ eyes are drinking in this new display of skin. 

“I thought the threat was that you were going to kiss me,” Louis cocks his head, face serious while his eyes twinkle. 

_“That_ was a promise,” Harry corrects him, pointing at him with the razor like some kind of professor. 

“I think you should make good on it,” Louis says, like it’s a suggestion when they both know it’s a demand. 

It’s a futile attempt to try to pull his robe back up, because Louis flicks it right back off. He’s smirking through his foamy half-beard, looking ridiculous with one side of his face shaved while the other is covered in suds. Harry is powerless to this kind of magnetism. 

“With your face like this?” Harry retorts, just to be difficult.

Louis leans forward, elbows supporting him on his knees. “Mhm, right here, right now,” he says like it’s some kind of challenge, like Harry could ever resist kissing him even if he had dirt and grime covering his lips. 

When he starts making a kissy face, lips pursed out so Harry has less of a chance of getting shaving cream on his own face, Harry starts giggling. The smooching sounds he’s making only make him laugh harder, and Harry doesn’t see it coming when Louis impatiently takes his jaw in both hands and places a searing kiss on him. 

It’s a good thing Harry managed to already shave around Louis’ lips because he’s not being careful of the foam still on his face at all. Not that Harry really cares. When Louis’ got his clever mouth on him, he loses all sense of his surroundings, all coherent thoughts. 

He can’t help the little moan that causes Louis to smile into their locked lips when he feels gentle fingertips rub firm, soothing circles into the nape of his neck. Just as Harry’s leaning in to make the kiss deeper, Louis pulls back. He pecks him once, twice, three times with his lips all puckered again, before settling against the back of the toilet. 

Harry feels all loose, and he knows he’s blushing, but it doesn’t stop him from looking up at Louis and pouting at him, a silent plea for more. 

“C’mon, lovely, finish the job,” Louis says, all soft tones. Then, in a more teasing voice, “I thought you said you knew how to shave?” He pokes at Harry’s thigh with a big toe. 

Snapping Louis’ boxer waistband against his skin, Harry squawks, indignant. “Careful, darling. _I’m_ the one holding the razor here.”

The threat does nothing but make Louis snort out a laugh, considering how the razor is dangling from his hand that’s resting on Louis’ knee. Harry’s furrowing his brows at him, lips stuck out in a pout, his temple resting on the inside of Louis’ other knee. 

“What, baby?” Louis asks when Harry keeps staring up at him, eyes wide.

He’s brushing strands of hair from his face, stray ones that have fallen from his loose bun, and Harry loses his train of thought for a moment as they lock gazes. It’s often that this happens--Harry getting lost in his ever-evolving beauty--though Louis seems oblivious to it a lot of the time. 

“I need motivation to keep going,” he remembers to mumble out, exaggeratedly, a few moments later. “You have _so much_ hair on your face, and I have _so little_ Louis on my lips.”

Louis sighs, shaking his head, and not even bothering to keep a grin from splitting his face. “Insufferable.” 

He obliges, as he always does, and Harry finishes shaving him in record time that would put a professional barber to shame.

His robe is ripped off before they make it to the bed, and from then on, it’s rare that Louis shaves his own face himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments, kudos, etc, are always appreciated! Follow me on [tumblr](https://andtheywerebandmates.tumblr.com/) if you'd like!


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